


Or'trikar

by CaptainKodak



Series: The Law of The Jungle [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cin Drallig's School of Cognitive Recalibration (Offscreen), Council Meeting, Hovertext Translations, Interpretation Liberties, Jedi Code (Star Wars), Past Character Death, Post-Battle of Geonosis, Some Code Philosophy, TLoTJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24067909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKodak/pseuds/CaptainKodak
Summary: or'trikar; [OHR-tree-kar]; grief"A Jedi does not cling to sorrow, young Padawan. We accept it. Sorrow is a part of life as well as joy. There are gifts to be found, even in death and sorrow…strange gifts. We accept this, we learn, and we go on. So Padawan Zenlav,” he asks, “would you allow me to take you on as my student, and to continue your training until such a time that you ascend to Knighthood?”Or, the one where Val adjusts to change as her new constant.
Series: The Law of The Jungle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735843
Kudos: 6





	Or'trikar

_“A bridge can still be built, while the bitter waters are flowing beneath.”_

_~ Anthony Liccione ~_

_Fire and ash and screaming overhead, wave after wave of concussive blasts, and –_

Many hours before Coruscant Prime would dare to flare over the horizon, Val raises from her mat, unable to find sleep. Formless dark umber trousers are fitted into the tops of reinforced boots. An undershirt slipped on. An overtunic tucked in. A belt clasped tight. Leather gauntlets secured tightly enough so as to draw a measure of discomfort, visible in the changed pallor of uncovered, tanned fingers.

It’s a routine, mechanical process, and one from which a numb comfort is drawn.

With a glance at the chronometer embedded in her glove, Val exits into the darkened central hallway housing the private quarters of Padawan learners. She and Master Danva had previously been roomed in the temporary facilities any time they’d been summoned to the Temple, but since Val’s return from Geonosis nearly two weeks prior, she’s become increasingly familiar with the sterile environment the long-term assignments make for.

One foot in front of the other, Val navigates her way through the northwest corner of the Temple, passing through the Knights’ Billeting and the temporary residences before reaching the nearest repulsorlift pad. From there, it’s a direct route down to reach the closet training annex.

The Temple is uncharacteristically quiet as the Padawan methodically charts her way towards her destination. An appreciation of silence is not a newfound cultivation for the seventeen-year-old, having been surrounded by brothers and sisters of the Order since a very young age, but there is an echo of emptiness present that weighs on her mind, amplifying the night. A heavy cloud hangs forebodingly in the Force.

When two leather-clad feet finally come to a halt in front of the training hall, Val absently runs her hand over the entry pad, pressing the relevant buttons before continuing her momentum, only to stop sharply when the door fails to slide open.

_Well that’s not supposed to happen._

An irritated frown makes itself known as the Padawan once more punches in her access key, only to be denied entry. Then again. With a grumble, she starts tugging at the housing of the wall panel.

“You know,” a low voice chides, “one might consider asking why they’ve been barred from certain facilities before continuing forward with their own agenda.”

Val offers a disgruntled glance to her side, where the faint lighting of the hall’s large windows illuminates the approaching Battlemaster. “One might,” she concedes. “But then, what need is there to ask, when such an answer is already known.”

Master Cin Drallig approaches, mouth set into a flat line as he stares down the girl in front of him. “What are you doing here, Zenlav?”

Val pulls back from her task and rigidly sets her shoulders. “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re here as Temple Security or not.”

At the uninspired snark, Cin levels an unimpressed stare at the Padawan, coming to a halt and crossing his arms in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Youngling minders after a particularly taxing day. “When was the last time you slept, kid?”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite take your meaning. I’ve only just woken up.”

A tick forms in the man’s brow. “Let me rephrase that. When was the last time you slept through a full night?”

The long, spanning silence is answer enough, and has the grizzled man letting out a huff at the obstinate glare cemented on the Padawan’s face. While normally a quite chilling visage, the effect of the cool olive gaze is somewhat lessened by the deep-set bags that have affixed themselves under her eyes – visible even in the darkened hall.

The kid looks terrible, and Cin isn’t sure if he’d rather there be rage in place of the tired, defeated expression that seems permanently affixed to his grandpadawan's face. Hesitantly, the Battlemaster reaches a hand out to rest on Val’s shoulder.

“What news have you heard from the Council?”

The question is not a particularly difficult one, but Val sags as she struggles to answer, voice coming out roughly when the words to do so are finally found. “A new Master is being arranged. There’s been conjecture, but no certainties have been conveyed as of yet.”

The Battlemaster has to consciously refrain from tightening his grip. It’s fast – unbelievably so. There’s been previous instances of missions going wrong; it wasn’t unheard of for Masters and their Padawans to be torn apart prematurely by death. Yet such a rarity was it that Cin had to actively search his memory for the most recent occurrence. He could recall there having been several months of readjustment for the apprentice in that situation, before talk of a new Master had been raised. Then again, Val had been apprenticed under the Knight for almost seven years, and had by all accounts been an exemplary student with well-rounded mission experience; the Order needs all of the trained Jedi they can muster following the slaughter that was Geonosis.

“It may be for the best.” His attempt at comfort falls flat, but then he never has been the best with words. That had been Joclad’s forte.

“Speaking from experience, are you?” Val’s veneer of placidity stretches to a snap, and the childish barb of one so usually controlled takes Cin by surprise.

“Do not forget yourself, Padawan. You may have lost a mentor, but I lost a very dear friend and a student. Your suffering does not make you special.” He finds himself regretting his hard reply as the Padawan shrinks in on herself.

Cin recoils from his grip on the girl’s shoulder as the two stand in the otherwise silent hall, the elder figure remaining quiet for long moment before speaking once more. “Perhaps I should not have –.”

“No,” Val interrupts in a small voice, “you’re right. That was unworthy of me.” She takes a step away from the training hall door by which they’ve been standing and moves to the pane of glass overlooking the neon-ridden skyline of Coruscant.

“One-hundred and seventy-nine Jedi were just killed. A _war_ has just begun, and I’m focused only on an individual. You knew him better than I, after all.” She takes a deep, rattling breath. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you, anyway. Or anyone, for that matter. Aren’t we supposed to – _I don’t know_ – release those feelings into the Force?”

“That sounds like an inquiry, yet you’ve just stated your own answer.”

At the sullen set of Val’s shoulders, Cin lets loose a sigh, moving to stand next to the Padawan.

“It is not… _wrong_ , to hold on to those emotions,” he says softly, “but I believe letting them influence your actions in this situation would lead you down a path Joclad would not wish you to follow.”

In the small pause that follows, a flicker of green glances over at the man. “But doesn’t the Code state that –.”

A hand raises, bringing a halt to Val’s train of thought.

“I haven’t finished.” The esteemed Battlemaster navigates his next words very carefully in the heavy silence of the night. “There seem to be a growing number among the Order, who mislabel the Code for law in lieu of what it truly is – a set of basic rules and standards. I admit, there is definitive value to be placed upon the mantra of strict adherence many of our Order hold themselves true to, but as an apprentice of Joclad’s –,” and at this, a pained upturn to the corner of his mouth is prevalent, “– I’m quite certain you know how our family of teachings looks at rules.”

The girl appraises her grandmaster with a look of faint amusement. “I do often find it difficult to remember that you studied under Grand Master Yoda.”

“I sincerely doubt that any who’ve spent more than a day or two in solitude with our esteemed Grand Master would find such difficulty with the comparison.”

There’s a soft laugh let loose at the attempt in levity before Cin continues.

“With all that being said, I do believe it to be an important part of each Jedi’s journey to discover the way in which they coexist with the Code. While each Jedi holds their own interpretations, to me, the philosophy of suppressing all personal desires and emotions seems the antithesis of being a guardian of peace and justice. I’ve never found the apathetic to be worthy shields against anything. One claims their self-driven desires are lost, all the while submitting to their ego the whole time by submerging themselves in their desire to let go of all desires and selfishness; it seems a base sort of hypocritical foolishness to me. Rather, I’d interpret the Code instead as an attempt by their author to instill a balance in an Order who seeks absolutes as guidance. I would maintain the ideal that one can freely have such things within themselves, and that so long as they remain focused on the Lightside of the Force to act as a counter balance, a person shall not be carried away by their emotions or be tempted into wielding the power of the Darkside.”

The composed Battlemaster pauses briefly, taking in the city before them. “I’m not trying to influence your personal views; that’s not my place, and I expect you shall spend many hours meditating upon the subject over your lifetime to come to your own decisions. However, blocking out _all_ emotions does not a successful warrior make, a point I should like to impress upon you in these troubling times. Rather, you must carefully decide what it is that you can allow yourself to be emotional about. What is important enough that you _have_ to care about it? And what are the things that would do you more harm than good, if you were to succumb to such feelings.”

Val fully turns to look at her grandmaster, the motion dislodging the thin, sand-colored Padawan braid that’d been resting along her right shoulder.

“I think,” she weighs, “that I find a great deal to be sensible in that interpretation.”

Cin Drallig laughs, a hoarse sound. “Your Master thought much the same when we had this conversation during his time under my tutelage. Judging by the news I’ve received over the years in regard to some of your more, shall we say _adventurous_ mission tactics, I get the impression that he embraced that philosophy in his teachings, even if it was never a conversation the two of you had the opportunity to discuss as adults.”

With a glance behind her at the dislodged access panel outside of the training room, Val offers an affable shrug.

“Probably.”

A long-suffering noise escapes the Chief of Security, and he delivers a firm hit to the back of the girl’s head. “Now, grandpadawan. For the dismantling of Temple property, I suppose we shall have to see how your Forms have been coming along.” Cin moves, effortlessly dragging the blonde forward. “Stars forbid you settle with a single specialization like your Master.”

The master swordsman shudders at the thought.

~ ~ ~

As the day moves on, Val can feel the cloud of emptiness that’s been hanging over her the prior two weeks begin to dissipate. Without a doubt, it’s presence still lingers, but Cin Drallig has set the process in motion, much in the way he solved many of his problems – by beating at them until they broke.

In her case very literally, as her bruises would likely convey for some time yet.

With a sense of directed aimlessness, Val wastes hours passing through the Temple, roaming everywhere from the infirmary, for her morning duties, to the outskirts wing in which the Chamber of Conclave is located, wherein preparations have begun in earnest to convert spaces into militarized briefing chambers and war rooms. Something tells Val that this region, one frequently traveled by young Initiates in tours of the displayed artifacts, will be closed to those without explicit invitations in the coming times.

It’s only approaching the lunch hour when Val’s feet find themselves treading the familiar halls of the First Knowledge quarter, moving through the seven-story tall greenhouse comprising the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Though intended primarily for meditation, the winding paths of potted plants and large displays of exotic foliage from across the galaxy had served just as well for lightsaber practice as an Initiate, and Val can recall easily the escapades that she and her fellow crechemates of Thranta Clan had embarked upon in their early youth, venturing out for mock battles without proper supervision. She moves to continue her wanderings when a voice halts her in place.

“Padawan Zenlav?” A half turn reveals a young male Zabrak – an Initiate on messenger duty, by the looks of him. With a cursory nod, the boy continues. “You’ve been summoned before the High Council.”

Conveying her thanks for the message, Val exits the garden, striding purposefully toward the southeast tower of the Temple. Given her lack of itinerary and the Initiate’s unfamiliarity with her, she suspects that there’s already been a fair delay since her summons, and her distance from the Council Chambers will only increase the time it’ll take her to report.

Luckily, no one is kept waiting. In fact, there’s a… there’s a _line_. And, is that – “Aayla?”

Even before Val’s call, the Rutian Twi’lek is turning. “Val! I –, it’s good to see you. After Geonosis, with Master Danva –,” the woman pauses, lowering her voice, “I admit I held brief concerns.”

The Padawan holds herself steady as Aayla continues.

“I stayed behind at Master Yoda’s request to help secure the planet and have only just returned, but my Master told me of your…”

“Nominal shutdown?” Val offers flatly.

The Twi’lek female offers her slightly taller junior a smack to the arm. “I was going to say situation, Text with Creator's Style turned off. Quin mentioned that the High Council was looking into options for you and the few others who’ve been, well, displaced.”

At the insult, Val rolls her eyes slightly but otherwise maintains her composure, looking over the few others standing in the larmalstone antechamber. She’d recognized Nahdar Vebb as a peer – the Padawan of Master Fisto who’d been exiting the hall upon her own entry – and she can pick Master Unduli and Padawan Skywalker out of the small crowd as well, but otherwise? It’s a sea of rarely-seen strangers waiting for their turn to enter the spire.

With her apprenticeship to Knight Danva, Val had spent much of her time off-planet like many others after leaving her place in the Temple as a Youngling. While it's made for broad training experiences, Val’s interpersonal knowledge of many of her fellows has suffered for it.

“To be honest, I’d assumed that’s what I was summoned for. The only other Padawan here though is that smartass, Skywalker. And last I’d heard, Master Kenobi is alive and well.”

Aayla lets out a snort at the light barb. “I don’t think you of all people have the right to be calling him that. Even so, he’d probably take it as a complement,” the woman adds as an aside, raising a hand to her chin in thought. “I can’t speak to your summons, though. I’ve been here for nearly an hour and haven’t heard anything yet in regard to my own.”

As if summoned by mention, a masked Temple Sentinel steps out into the room, beckoning Knight Secura forth and leaving Val alone in the antechamber. Following suit with the rest of her compatriots, the Padawan settles down for a long wait next to an observation pane overlooking the Processional Way, idly picking at a loose thread on the slightly raised collar of her undershirt.

For nearly a week, large starships had come and gone with contingents of clone troopers as the Order prepared for war and Jedi _Generals_ were assigned commands, though the former still unsettled Val.

_We are both untrained and unprepared for this kind of warfare on a galactic scale. Geonosis was a victory, but a pyrrhic one at that. What comes next will reverberate for eons to come._

Val watches legions of troops drill under the clouded Coruscant sky.

It’s another forty minutes when a prickle at her senses alerts the Padawan to the opening of the dedicated turbolift leading to Council Chambers. Aayla steps out, looking more tired than Val’s seen her in a long time, but by the focused drive to her steps the woman has important things to do, and no time to waste on idle chatter. Later when rumors are running rampant with all the commissions being given, Val will learn that Aayla Secura has just been granted the title of Jedi Master.

Individuals continue to come and go until finally, it is her turn.

“Padawan Zenlav, your presence has been requested.”

Picking herself up without complaint and tugging at her garb in an effort to right herself from the lounging, Val makes her way into the High Council’s Chambers.

It’s hardly the first time she’s entered the room, but the feeling of the circular chamber’s upwardly receding slope of transparisteel viewports still brings forth a feeling akin to those placed upon a sacrificial altar.

Vulnerable. Exposed. Discomfited.

 _Then again_ , she thinks, taking in the sparsely populated ring of twelve cushioned chairs surrounding her, _that is in all likelihood the point._

Of the six individuals present, only Masters Yoda and Mace Windu occupy the room in the physical sense, and it is the latter who speaks first.

“Padawan Zenlav. Thank you for joining us today.”

Stoically, Val offers a bow to the Council members with a cursory greeting. She’s been left to her own devices for nearly two weeks now, in too volatile a state of mind until Master Drallig’s since-named ‘Epic Beatdown’ to do much other than moodily roll bandages for the Medical Corps. Evidently it seems that the allotted time for grieving has come to an end.

_I suppose now I’ll be assigned a new –_

“If you would, please inform the Council on the events of Geonosis.”

_Pardon?_

While her confusion may be visibly apparent, Val is not hard of hearing. Nor is she willing to risk the possible wrath of Master Windu, should he need to reiterate his directive.

So Val complies. To the best of her knowledge, she relays her initial deployment. She tells them how her mentor joined Master Yoda on the mission to rescue the captives at the Petranaki Arena. She tells them of the crash. Of the loss of her team, and the crippling sensation she was later able to attribute to Joclad Danva shutting out their bond in his last moments. Of her joining with the Lieutenant’s Company out of the 4th Infantry in the canyon. Of the Separatist Command Post. The AT-TE’s. The Hardcell Transports.

For the most part, the Council listens quietly, interruptions happening every so often to ask for clarifying detail – mostly from Master Windu and the newly appointed Master Kenobi – but there’s a sudden upsurge in interest when Val thoughtlessly refers to the jetpack-clad trooper who’d stayed at her side throughout the invasion.

“-and this trooper had a _name_ , you say?” The hologram of Shaak Ti ripples in interest as the Togruta dispatched to the planet Kamino shifts forward in her seat.

“Yes, Master Ti. He’d introduced himself to the Lieutenant as ‘Comet’.” With reflection on the cloned nature of the soldiers, Val doesn’t find it too strange that they’d found a manner in which to express their individuality, but evidently the discovery is one that the High Council has not yet stumbled upon, ensconced as they’ve been in their tower since the Jedi’s return to Coruscant.

The blonde doesn’t know what there is to be surprised at, though. Perhaps others on the frontlines had not had the time for conversation that she’d had, but most every soldier she’d interacted with had held their own defining signature in the Force, separate from their brethren. She’d never have been able to keep track of them had that not been the case, clad in uniform plastoid as they all were. Clones they may be, but _individuals_ as well. And individuals generally had names.

The rest of the Padawan’s debriefing continues in the same form as before the interruption, breaking every so often for an inquiry, but mostly concluding in an efficient and concise manner. By the time her account is completed nearly thirty minutes later, the Council seem confident they’ve gleaned all to be had from her.

“Much on which to think, you have given us.” In the white light of the clouded midafternoon, Master Yoda steeples his fingers in a contemplative manner. “Yet discuss your future, we must, before you go.”

Val does a rather valiant job of impersonating stone as Master Windu speaks again.

“No finalities have been decided as of yet,” the man speaks, looking Val dead in the eye, “but the Council has determined that due to your age and the current stage of your training, you will be continuing your apprenticeship in lieu of the Trials of Knighthood a few of your older peers have been slated for in the coming months.”

Val hadn’t even considered such, but the internal wave of Do Not Want to rise from within affirms her support of that decision as Master Windu continues.

“Recent revelations regarding the Separatist Alliance mean that every competent Jedi will be needed in the war which is upon us, something you’ve proved yourself to be throughout your apprenticeship. That being said, the Council wishes to convey our condolences over your Master’s joining with the Force. Knight Danva was a highly formidable opponent and a remarkable duelist. We will feel his absence keenly in the comings days.”

The Padawan offers a bow to the Council, and a soft conveyance of thanks. When she raises herself once more, Grand Master Yoda is staring at the girl contemplatively.

“Free to go you are, young Padawan. Soon speak, we will.”

~ ~ ~

Another week has passed when Master Yoda’s promise on behalf of the Council is fulfilled by way of an ambush during the breakfast hour.

“Might I join you, Padawan Zenlav?”

Val nearly chokes on her fork as the hero of the Stark Hyperspace War moves to sit across the table from her, interrupting the girl from where she’s been wolfing down her meal in an effort to finish before the satellite refectory closes.

_After all I’ve survived, I’m going to be done in by poor situational awareness and undercooked hawk-bat eggs. What a way to go._

A rough knock to the back has Val wheezing an affirmative response, reaching for her glass to take a drink.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I have something to discuss if you would perhaps humor me.” Val shifts back in her seat, looking the Council Member in the eye – or at least as close as she can get.

“Of course, Master Plo. I’m at your disposal.”

It’s admittedly an odd approach, but not one that seems too out of sorts. Her mentor had been known for his fighting prowess; an extremely skilled practitioner of not only Niman and Jar’Kai, but a master of the martial arts form known as Teräs Käsi – so much so that he’d served as the Order’s authority on the subject, and many of his sparring matches were recorded in the archives. Master Plo Koon had also worked with Joclad previously, learning from the younger man and sparring in their favored forms. Thus, it was no surprise that a student of Jocald Danva holding a reputation of martial prowess in her own right had worked with the fellow practitioner before.

Just never so informally, and never when the Master had already had a perfect arena in which to field his questions during the Council Session. The Kel Dor Jedi was many things, but prone to cloak and dagger was not one of them. She senses something else afoot, and the puzzle sets her on edge.

“I’d wished to converse with you following your summons but was aiding in other matters off-world.” The Master pauses before continuing. “As you may know, former Council Member Master Micah Giiett became one with the Force nearly a decade ago, at which point I took over the training of then-Padawan Bultar Swan.”

_Ah. There it is._

Her hair stands on end. As the Council Member continues to speak, Val can visibly feel a wash of cold spreading over her, simultaneously numbing and electrifying every nerve in her body. She looks at her fellow Jedi as he talks, but can only make out a ringing white noise in place of the Master’s words.

 _You knew this was coming,_ echoes in the back of the Padawan’s head. _So, what’s the surprise?_ _There are far worse situations to be in. Relegation to the Service Corps, for one._

And yet as audible stimulus once more becomes discernable, Val can’t help but feel the ugliest sense of betrayal in the pit of her stomach of behalf of her former Master. She attempts to ferociously squash the emotion under her metaphorical heel.

 _What was it,_ Val asks herself, _that Master Drallig said about attachment?_ Val has to forcibly loosen the grip on her slightly-malformed fork. _That in the end, it boils down to priorities. About what’s important enough that I_ have _to care about it, and what’s only going to hurt me in the end._

To question whether Val’s table partner has noticed her tense body language would be a discredit to his caliber as a Jedi, but the Padawan sends her silent thanks to the Master as he monologues far more than his usual polite brevity, giving her the opportunity to process as he speaks.

There’s a noticeable pause in the dialogue, drawing Val’s attention from the loosely curled fists in her lap back to look at the Kel Dor across from her.

"A Jedi does not _cling_ to sorrow, young Padawan. We accept it. Sorrow is a part of life as well as joy. There are gifts to be found, even in death and sorrow… _strange gifts_. We accept this, we learn, and we go on. So Padawan Zenlav,” he asks, “would you allow me to take you on as my student, and to continue your training until such a time that you ascend to Knighthood?”

It is not with cheerfulness or anger or sadness or pride that Val Zenlav replies, but rather with a quiet acceptance of change as her new constant.

“It would be my honor, Master.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Captain's Log: Last Update [05.27.2020]_
> 
> Current Fixation: Figure out whether to keep fighting my muse in an effort to combine all this nonsense into one large time-skip-ridden mission-to-mission mess, or just give up and post individual arcs as their own pieces of the puzzle. Hmmm. Choices, choices.
> 
> **Translation Index:**
>
>> Rylothian; 
>>     "boc’ara" : "idiot"; translates as _“smart like a rock”_


End file.
